O Earth, wrap me
in your leaves-
heal me.

Let me fall
on your Earthbreast-
feed me.

Sing to me
under the round nests
in your cedar trees. . .

Let my wounds
open
and empty

Into your wonderful
compost heap. . .

Let my wounds
become fertile
gardens and

Let me be.
Let me live
again.

O Earth, wrap me
in your leaves-
heal me.

Let me fall
on your Earthbreast-
feed me.

Sing to me
under the round nests
in your cedar trees. . .

Let my wounds
open
and empty

Into your wonderful
compost heap. . .

Let my wounds
become fertile
gardens and

Let me be.
Let me live
again.

Dancing the Labyrinth

...The only reason
for going into
the open heart
or the labyrinth
rose
is to let your heart break
open
so that you can hear
the first cry
of creation
when God birthed
the universe,
and you can
become
large enough
to respond,
let your whole
life unfurl
in all
its magnificence
and purity,
and cry back
to the Holy One
with the beauty
that will rise
within you.
--"Alla Renee Bozarth"

Twilight

... A star seems
to slip secretly
over the mountain.
A river sings
a new song of never-before
and always.

You look into the eye
of a deer and see
the whole forest,
a star on each tree.

It could be morning.
It could be night.
The push is over.

At last
you remember
whose you are.

Dancing the Labyrinth

...The only reason
for going into
the open heart
or the labyrinth
rose
is to let your heart break
open
so that you can hear
the first cry
of creation
when God birthed
the universe,
and you can
become
large enough
to respond,
let your whole
life unfurl
in all
its magnificence
and purity,
and cry back
to the Holy One
with the beauty
that will rise
within you.
--"Alla Renee Bozarth"

Twilight

... A star seems
to slip secretly
over the mountain.
A river sings
a new song of never-before
and always.

You look into the eye
of a deer and see
the whole forest,
a star on each tree.

It could be morning.
It could be night.
The push is over.

At last
you remember
whose you are.

Volcano

You blow yourself up to nurture your children, to draw attention

to a larger reality than human history, to teach us

that destruction is part of creation, to remind us

that the Earth is alive and every day of bearable light is a gift.

The Night Gardener This is my bliss time. I water under the moon while the world sleeps. Awake with owls and bats, moths and cats and the worker bee who never sleeps -- I give grasses their drink, kiss the night-blooming flowers whose moon-drenched yellow scent surrounds the garden, whose round blossoms glow in the dark, dancing like drunkard angels.

This remarkable work proves that a time of devastating change can result in magnificent growth and illumination. In these intensely personal and universal ponderings, Episcopal priest, author-poet, and therapist Alla Renee Bozarth relates the wrenching decisions that caused her to move from her "exile" in the Midwest back to Oregon, to her place "at the foot of the mountain." She takes us through her grief at the death of her father and of her young husband, then shares her gradual healing through the creative process of writing this book.

As she finds strengths to minister to herself, she ministers to us. In introducing us to her special places and symbols, her teachers, we are moved to discover our own healing metaphors for ourselves.